


Spark

by IcyPanther



Series: To Light a Fire [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Hurt Zuko (Avatar), Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, Slave Zuko, Slavery, Torture, Whump, Zuko (Avatar) Angst, Zuko (Avatar) whump, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, mentioned Iroh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28962981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyPanther/pseuds/IcyPanther
Summary: “You have shamed me, Zuko,” Father’s eyes glinted,  “and so shame shall be your new teacher.” He leaned in, breath hot on Zuko’s face in contrast to the cold shiver rolling down his spine. “You are now and forevermore the property of General Bujing, who will be free to do with you and to you whatever he likes. You will live out your days as he sees fit until he decides to end your miserable life. And I will never have to suffer the shame of seeing your face again.”Or: Canon-divergent AU where Zuko is disowned and made a slave.
Relationships: Zuko & Bujing
Series: To Light a Fire [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2124336
Comments: 61
Kudos: 199





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> **Timeline notes:** canon divergent following end of s2e1  
>  **Warning notes:** violence, torture

“I said you would learn respect.”

Father’s voice echoed in the chamber, his greeting as Zuko was shoved, chains clanking around both his wrists and feet, to kneel before the dais, armed guards at his back.

“I said suffering would be your teacher.”

The flames parted, revealing Father in his full robes and regalia and making Zuko — clothed in a threadbare prison uniform that had seen far better days, his head a patch of unshaven fuzz that looked so out of place with his top-knot, greasy and unkept as it was — feel even more underdressed and out of place.

“And yet,” Father began to descend the steps, eyes narrowed and despite the warm color, the roaring flames, Zuko shivered, “you have learned _nothing.”_

Before, Zuko knew he’d have said something in his defense.

Not now.

Because the last time he had tried, his own pitiful and tear-laced words floating in his mind — _“Please, Father, I meant no disrespect. I am your loyal son.”_ — had been met with fire and pain and as much as Zuko had longed to believe, had _made_ himself believe that Father’s own words and his punishment had been deserved and had been given to him as a chance to restore his honor…

He knew better now. 

Even telling himself that Azula always lies wasn’t enough because the truth was staring him in the face as Father drew closer, not a lick of kindness in his face, not a hint of love or pride or anything and everything that Zuko longed for.

And while Azula may have embellished the truth to lure him onto her ship — and he’d been such a fool, why had he not listened to Uncle? Where _was_ Uncle? — she had not outright lied.

Father _did_ want him home.

Her ship after a three-week journey _had_ brought him to the Fire Nation.

He _was_ once more in the palace throne room.

Just…

As a prisoner, not as a prince.

In chains, rather than robes.

Here out of shame of embarrassment, not because Father actually missed him and loved him.

That last part Azula had gleefully told him and Zuko had clung to the hope that she was lying, that this was all some cruel, twisted joke to her.

But he could now see that it wasn’t true.

Father didn’t joke.

Father didn’t play games.

Which meant that…

For once…

Azula hadn’t lied.

Azula had told the truth.

And Zuko didn’t know what to do with this development.

Zuko licked dry lips as Father drew within a few feet of him and bowed his head, trying to show respect and deference and, also, and he tried not to flinch because that was pathetic and weak and Father did not tolerate weakness, because the last time he had seen Father, the last time he had bowed his head…

His scar pulsed at the memory.

But, and Zuko prayed, there had to be a reason Father had brought him here, not locked him up in some dungeon as Azula had taunted he would and her disappointment when they’d docked and there had been orders to, discretely, bring Zuko to the throne room rather than the prison had not been faked. 

So there was a chance.

If Zuko showed enough humility, enough apology, enough respect, then maybe…

“Fath—”

“Do not speak,” Father cut him off before Zuko could even start his apology and his lips pressed together, silent.

“I do not care to hear what excuses fall off your tongue,” Father continued and Zuko saw the hem of his robes stop barely inches from him. “There is nothing you can say that will make the dishonor you have brought upon the Fire Nation any less.”

Zuko flinched.

That was the _last_ thing he’d wanted to do.

He’d gone out to restore his honor, to bring glory to the Fire Nation. 

“You were bested by a _child,”_ Father continued, spitting the Avatar’s youth as though that meant anything when a prodigy was involved, “on more than one account despite all the resources offered to you.”

Zuko bit his tongue to that because he knew arguing that the supplies and crew the Wani had been provided, the (lack of) supplies he’d been allowed at even Fire Nation port would only make him look like a whining, petulant child. 

“And even worse,” without looking Zuko knew Father’s eyes had narrowed, “your pathetic attempts to capture the Avatar prevented more competent individuals from actually doing so.”

He didn’t mention the fact that any of those people were free to come and go from the Fire Nation as they pleased, not banished with a single, one-way ticket back in. 

Zuko was forever grateful that no one knew he had been the Blue Spirit and while he knew Zhao suspected such…

Well, Zhao was…

Zuko tried not to think about the man’s fate.

Zuko knew though pointing out such reasoning would gain him no favors or empathy and would only serve as another interruption. 

“You were given a generous opportunity to restore your honor, Zuko, and you failed. Just,” and Zuko could hear his sneer, “as you have failed at everything your entire life. You disgrace the Fire Nation Zuko. You disgrace _me._ And…”

Zuko’s gasp was swallowed as he bit down on his tongue as Father’s hand landed in his topknot and his head was _yanked_ upwards.

Father’s molten gaze bore down upon him, meeting his head on.

“You are no son of mine.”

Zuko’s heart stopped beating. 

What?

No.

Father couldn’t.

He _wouldn’t._

He’d, he’d been banished.

Not disowned.

He could still find the Avatar. He could still restore his honor.

He just needed a chanc— 

There was a _flicker_ in Father’s other hand and Zuko hated how he flinched, already bracing for flames even though this wasn’t an Agni Kai and Father shouldn’t mark him, but…

But that hadn’t stopped him before. 

It was no fire though.

It was a knife.

Its intention was clear.

He knew he was not supposed to speak, but…

But…

Nevermind that speaking out had cost him everything, if he said nothing now he would lose even more.

“Father,” he barely recognized his own voice, “please. I, I am your loyal s—”

Father sliced right through his top-knot, blade skimming against his scalp, and there was a dull, muffled _thump_ as his hair, a symbol of his _honor,_ struck the ground next to him and Zuko’s head snapped back without the tension.

Father’s hand gripped his chin, squeezing painfully and nails digging into his cheeks, preventing him from speaking even if he found the words and courage, and his gaze _burned_ as it met Zuko’s.

“You are no son of mine,” he repeated. “You are hereby stripped of your titles and removed from both the line of succession and the family tree.”

Zuko felt faint.

This had to be a nightmare.

This couldn’t be real.

But it was.

Father had…

He had really…

He’d just wanted to come _home._

“And all that remains now is the question of what to do with you,” Father said. “There is death, of course,” and Zuko’s heart skipped a beat at not the concept but that so quickly, without even a blink of hesitation, Father would… “but death is honorable and you do not deserve such a quick, painless end.

“I had thought of imprisoning you,” Father continued, not even a pause, “for you to live out the rest of your days in the dark and squalor and descend into madness,” and Zuko knew that was what Azula had thought his fate was to be, but he could hear the but and he didn’t know how to feel, “but such a fate seems too kind. And besides,” his lips curled up, “there is another to whom that fate belongs.”

Zuko’s eyes widened.

Uncle.

He meant Uncle.

Uncle, who had done _nothing_ wrong.

Nothing except try to help Zuko.

“And so that leads me to the third option that seems most fitting for one such as you.” Father’s eyes glinted with what Zuko could almost call excitement and it made his stomach clench because it was not a kind version of the word. “You have shamed me, Zuko. And so shame shall be your new teacher.”

He leaned in, breath hot on Zuko’s face in contrast to the cold shiver rolling down his spine.

“You are now and forevermore the property of General Bujing, who will be free to do with you and to you whatever he likes. You will live out your days as he sees fit until he decides to end your miserable life. And _I_ ,” his eyes narrowed with disgust, lighting upon the scar, the mark of shame that _he_ had bestowed, “will never have to suffer the shame of seeing your face again.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a fic idea I've had in my head since I first watched ATLA over a decade ago, and one of my very kind supporters used their fic request slot to allow me to write it. I'm no longer posting the majority of my work on AO3 but thought I'd give ATLA one more shot here and see how it goes :) This fic is part of a planned series too that I do hope I can post to AO3 in full. 
> 
> If you are reading the fic it it would mean a lot to hear from you in the comments below. Thank you very much and thank you for reading ♥


	2. Two

Zuko had thought the journey on Azula’s ship had been awful.

He was wrong.

This was worse.

It’s not that the accommodations were bad; they were actually better as Zuko wasn’t kept chained to the wall but instead allowed to freely walk about the small cell (although given the fact his hands were cuffed in metal behind him sort of negated it but at least he could move) _and_ he’d been given a blanket for the metal cot jutting out of the wall and unlike Azula’s crew, whether terrified by her or getting some sick thrill by belittling and taunting Zuko, these guards had yet to raise a hand to him and were resolutely ignoring him where they were stationed down the hallway.

But aboard Azula’s ship he’d had hope. 

Now he had none. 

Father had…

Zuko squeezed his eyes shut against traitorous tears trying to make themselves known.

And for the first time in his life…

Zuko didn't know what to do.

Well, he often didn’t know what to do. He’d wandered the world for three years, growing more and more desperate with each failed location to find an Avatar who had been missing for almost one hundred years and how had he ever been expected to succeed in such an impossible mission?

The truth had been there the whole time but Zuko had been obstinately blind to it. He hadn’t wanted to see it.

Because if he did then it meant accepting that Father didn’t _want_ him to come home. And that couldn’t be true.

Except…

Except it was. 

And then, even when he’d miraculously found the Avatar — and he’d foolishly thought that meant his luck was changing, that fate was _finally_ being as kind to him as it had been to Father and Azula — he had constantly not known what exactly to do except track down the Avatar and capture him.

But he’d always had that. He’d always had a mission, a goal, a hope.

Now he didn’t.

He had nothing.

Nothing except a fate as some, some _slave_ to a Fire Nation noble, all the way on the furthest east island — a three day trip from the Caldera — and worst of all…

Zuko knew this general.

He…

He was the one he’d originally thought he was going to fight an Agni Kai against.

He was the one who had ordered the subsequent slaughter of Fire Nation troops who had only hoped to serve their Nation.

Zuko had known, deep down, that Fath— he broke the thought off.

That wasn’t right.

He wasn’t… wasn’t Zuko’s father anymore.

He couldn’t be.

And Zuko _hated_ that there was any part of him still torn about that, that still felt, felt _loyal_ to him. 

That Zuko felt like he had failed him.

He’d always wanted to believe that Father only acted as he did because he wanted what was best for Zuko. That he wanted to see him succeed. That this was all done so Zuko could prove himself worthy one day of the title of Fire Lord.

That was a lie.

It was a lie that Zuko had swallowed willingly because he couldn’t bear the alternative.

Even now, even after all that had happened…

He still didn’t want to believe.

But he needed to.

He had to.

 _Ozai_ was not his father.

He had _never_ wanted Zuko to succeed.

And Zuko…

Zuko had been a _fool._

And now he got to die as one.

A foolish _slave._

If…

If he’d only listened to Uncle and his heart twisted at the thought. Uncle was in _prison_ because of him.

It could have been worse, he tried to console himself. Fath— Ozai could have ordered his execution. And, and unlike Zuko, Uncle was well respected in the Fire Nation. He had contacts. And surely they would not leave his uncle to rot and slowly go insane in isolation. 

Zuko prayed it so because _he_ certainly wasn’t helping Uncle. 

He couldn’t even help himself.

He’d tried. But there were no portholes in the brig, the guards had been too strong and he too weak to physically overpower him and even now there were two armed guards stationed at the entrance to the brig should he somehow get out of his cell — and he’d tried; the door was locked and the walls were solid sheets of metal.

Not only that his wrists were bound in chains and Zuko knew (from experience and he still had healing burns to prove it) trying to use flames would only result in burning himself. The world thought water and cold were a firebender’s weakness and they weren’t entirely wrong but they they were missing the cruelest one.

Metal was.

Metal was a prison where they’d only burn and scorch themselves on cuffs and chains or turn a metal room into a furnace and while a firebender may be able to control heat and flame they could not stop it or take it away. Zuko would kill or disfigure himself before he ever got free and the illusion of freedom by movement was cruel.

Zuko knew it would only get worse.

The palace had servants, not slaves, as slaves could not be trusted, but he’d seen them before when he had been younger and toured the eastern and northern islands where they were common practice of generally former Earth Kingdom citizens. Mother had frowned and although she had said nothing Zuko had gotten the impression she did not approve.

He hadn’t been sure what to make of the concept — they were just like servants except they didn’t get paid, but they were fed and clothed and had a place to live so it couldn’t be all bad — until he’d witnessed an older slave — he was old enough to be Zuko’s grandpa — being beaten in plain sight in the market. Based on the screams of the woman lashing him with her staff he had dropped something and no one had done _anything_ as he screamed and sobbed and blood and flesh flew in the air.

Azula had actually stopped to watch before Mother pulled her away.

And that’s where Zuko was now headed.

But…

His hands curled into fists behind him.

He would not be so easily cowed. He’d escape. 

Although…

He licked his lips.

He had no idea where he’d go. 

He…

He wasn’t welcome at home anymore. 

And while he might have been a fool he wasn’t so stupid as to return to the palace and beg Fath— Ozai’s forgiveness (although what, exactly, was there to forgive? The thought and the fact he didn’t know the answer or if there was one made Zuko’s stomach roll uncomfortably) because he knew he would receive none, receive no mercy and receive no further chance to prove himself.

Even trying to hide within the Fire Nation would be a failed attempt as his face — and he closed his eyes, bowing his head — was well known and while he may have been disowned and no longer a prince he had no doubt there would be some type of reward and someone would gladly turn him in.

So the only place to go, if he did manage to escape…

Would be the Earth Kingdom. He could head for Ba Sing Se where refugees flocked and he could become a faceless, nameless person among the masses where he’d live a miserable, lonely life always looking over his shoulder.

There…

There really was no escape.

But he wasn’t a quitter. He’d never given up before and he couldn’t, wouldn’t, allow himself to start n—

The entire ship lurched without warning beneath him and Zuko nearly faceplanted into the wall, catching himself painfully on his shoulder instead, but the pain was barely noticeable.

Because he knew from years of living on a ship what that particular lurch was.

They’d just stopped.

Which meant they’d pulled into port.

Which meant…

Zuko swallowed, nails digging into his palms. 

What did he do?

He, he _refused_ to be intimidated or cowed but he also knew he no longer had any pedestal on which to stand and doing so would only make him look foolish and likely invite some sort of punishment.

What _would_ Bujing punish him with? 

Zuko shoved the thought away because as he’d seen in his travels there were so, so many ways to hurt a person and he couldn’t start thinking of that now.

He had to concentrate on escaping. 

And he’d do whatever he had to reach that goal.

But even so, he refused to be seen as weak as Fath— Ozai always told him he was. He refused to cower.

He would be proud, but not arrogant.

He would be respectful, but not meek.

He would obey, but he would not give up.

The words carved into the knife Uncle had given him flashed through his mind.

_Never give up without a fight._

He wouldn’t.

He couldn’t.

And he wouldn’t.

And while it might seem impossible right now, Zuko also refused to give up on Uncle because Uncle…

Uncle had never given up on him. Even when Zuko had been cruel and lashed out and refused to accept Uncle’s kindness, Uncle had never shown him anything but love and patience and how could Zuko have ever thought he wanted to trade that in for Fath— Ozai’s love?

Uncle had been more of a father than his real one.

How had Zuko never noticed?

When…

When was the last time he’d told Uncle he loved him?

He didn’t know.

Agni, he didn’t know.

Zuko was almost grateful for the interruption of heavy metal boots in the hallway as it pulled him from that sick realization and he straightened up, lifting his chin with pride (but not too much) to meet the eyes of the guards. He said nothing as they unlocked his cell — unlike Azula he tended to talk himself into trouble rather than out of it — and ordered for him to come out, immediately flanking him as though Zuko was going to try to make a run for it.

As they exited the ship onto the dock Zuko almost wished he had, as useless as it would be.

Bujing hadn’t changed a bit since Zuko had last seen him in the war room; same pointed face, same long moustache and goatee that Zuko thought always looked like a dead cat-possum’s tail, and the same cold eyes that had sent so many young men and women to their deaths.

Except there was one difference.

Before, even when Zuko had been interrupting, Bujing had kept any of his own reservations to himself, respecting Zuko’s title and looking on indifferently.

Now he wore a wolf-shark smirk and it only grew as Zuko neared, staring Zuko down and he stared resolutely back because he refused to lower his gaze to this… this _murderer._

Even though…

There was not just something cruel to Bujing’s smirk there was something _dangerous_ and Zuko felt a shiver go down his spine.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Prince Zuko all grown up,” Bujing smiled. “Oh, pardon me. Just Zuko now.”

Zuko said nothing to the taunt.

He knew what this man was capable of and the last time he’d spoken to him…

His burn tingled.

But more than that, Zuko was going to have to use every advantage he possessed to get out of this. And while those were all severely lacking in the current circumstances Zuko did have one.

Bujing didn’t know Zuko. Not anymore. He was not the same boy he’d been in the war room and he would not be so easily provoked, would not speak before he thought, and he would not allow his recklessness, his rashness and his temper take control.

That would not help him and it would not help Uncle. He needed Bujing to underestimate him, believe Zuko was no threat, and when his guard was lowered Zuko would escape. 

It might be a bit of a long game but Bujing would not expect it because that was not what anyone ever expected of Zuko. 

He would prove them wrong.

He would prove them _all_ wrong.

Bujing hummed, tapping his chin in a gesture that wouldn’t look out of place on Azula. “You’re so quiet, Zuko. Not at all like what I remembered. Although your manners remain atrocious as ever.”

Zuko stayed quiet, never letting up on the shared eye contact.

He was not afraid.

He wasn’t.

“You will address me as Master,” Bujing continued, stepping forward, and Zuko tried not to bristle as that title belonged to those like Piando, masters of their craft and worthy of respect.

Here it just meant ownership. 

Bujing could say whatever he wanted to though; Zuko had no intention to ever call him anything except the fire-rat that he was. Silence may not be what Bujing was expecting of Zuko, but, as small as it was, it gave Zuko a small measure of control.

And if he said nothing then he couldn’t be punished for it.

“I see though,” Bujings’ eyes narrowed as Zuko had yet to break their eye contact, “that fire of yours is still intact.” 

His hand came to rest on Zuko’s cheek and it took all he had not to pull back, fingers brushing against his scar and he bit down the immediate retort to not touch him.

That would give Bujing power and Zuko refused to give it to him.

“But don’t you worry,” Bujing’s breath was hot on his face, his fingers still tracing against the bumps and ridges and sending more prickles down Zuko’s spine, “I’ll break that spirit of yours soon enough.”

His hand trailed away to rest around Zuko’s neck, his other hand rising up from within his large robe sleeve and there was a soft _clinking_ noise and then something _cold_ brushed against Zuko’s throat. 

He resisted the urge to swallow as he felt it encircling his neck even as his brain fired off what was happening.

It was a chain.

But not a necklace.

A collar.

Bujing had just put him in a collar like a mindless beast— 

It tightened and Zuko gagged and then gagged more as his head and body were jerked forward and his knees struck the dock with a _thunk_ and he belatedly realized it was not just a collar.

There was a leash. 

He was on a leash.

“Come along, Zuko,” Bujing tugged on the chain, choking him more, “your new home awaits. And,” he let out a soft laugh, “everyone is so looking forward to meeting you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have a moment after reading and are enjoying the fic I'd really love to hear from you in the comments. Thanks to the few who popped in last chapter, I really appreciate it and loved reading your comments <3


	3. Three

Everyone, Zuko found, was not necessarily related to those living at Bujing’s house. Because to get to Bujing’s house they had to walk through the main part of the small but incredibly affluent island town.

And _everyone_ had apparently come out to see them.

Zuko was finding it hard to hold his head up and it wasn’t just because Bujing kept slowing down and speeding up, constantly choking him as Zuko was forced to keep at his pace, especially as his balance was compromised with his arms still chained behind him.

The whispers that ran through the gathered crowd were the worst.

They reminded him too much of the way Grandfather and Ozai used to converse as they stared at him, of the palace courtiers and their gossip that Zuko always had the feeling was about him, and even the whispers of his crew on the Wani. And then of course there were those that whispered and stared as they saw his scar all across the Earth Kingdom, some pitying, some derisive, but all unwanted.

The jeers though were almost as bad as they threw in his face what Zuko was still trying to come to terms with.

Disinherited.

Dishonored.

Shameful.

Disgrace. 

He made himself say nothing because what was there to say?

He had no defense. Not one they would understand.

Ozai’s power and control were absolute, his words not just law but revered. 

Zuko couldn’t blame them. Up until yesterday, even with all that had happened, he had longed to believe the same. 

He knew better.

They didn’t.

That knowledge didn’t really help as their words cut far sharper than any knife.

But worse than those?

The reminder that Zuko was no longer just a person.

He was a slave.

And slaves were not people. They were objects. Property. Things. 

And the things some of the people were suggesting Bujing do to him to put him in his place?

Zuko could feel his cheeks both heating and paling at the same time even more than when the Wani’s crew would talk about their escapades at port stops. He didn’t think that’s what Bujing’s intentions were in any shape or form, but Bujing’s laughter and nods did nothing to reassure him.

It was almost a relief to reach Bujing’s home — the largest in the town, situated up a rolling pathway on a hill — and leave the town behind. 

Unfortunately the two guards from the ship had not left during the entire walk and they were joined by two more of the six total standing at attention at the front gates and flanking Zuko as he was led from the immaculate courtyard and through the front door of the home and followed him through the hallways.

Zuko hadn’t really thought he’d be escaping immediately so that part was fine. But the sheer amount of guards Bujing had at his disposal — and at least five of the eight he’d seen Zuko could tell based on their lack of weapons were firebenders — was worrying.

He let out a shallow breath, made harder by the links still digging into his neck, to try to calm himself.

It would be all right.

He’d known his escape would take time to enact and he just had to have patience. 

Bujing entered what had to be his study, large ornate desk centered in the middle of the room, cabinets along the walls and…

Zuko’s breath caught.

And what could only be another slave.

He was an older man, hair turning gray although it had once been brown, and he was standing silently in the corner, arms laden with a tray and cloth — clothing? It was the same dark red as the simple belted tunic and pants he wore— piled atop it. Zuko might have thought he was a servant, save for the fact there were scars, thin white lines, visible on his arms and puckered burns and some of those…

Some of those were _new._

Zuko hurriedly averted his eyes, even though his own were cast down with his bowed head, and focused back on Bujing, who was turning to face Zuko although he still held onto the leash.

“Now,” Bujing smiled at him, “let’s get you settled. The first order of business is releasing you from your cuffs so you can best serve me. Would you like that, Zuko?”

A second later and Zuko realized that Bujing was expecting an answer.

He kept his lips a thin line, his stare impassive. 

Bujing gave a small nod of his head.

And Zuko _gasped_ as fire-wreathed fingers from one of the guards landed on his upper arm, burning right through the thin prison garb and striking flesh, biting down on his tongue to avoid screaming.

He knew now why the other slave was covered in burn marks.

“I said,” Bujing repeated, not even flinching at the scent of burnt meat as Zuko’s eyes watered from both it and the pain “would you like for your cuffs to be removed?”

Zuko knew the logical thing to do was to say yes.

He also knew if he caved too quickly that Bujing would be suspicious and rather than relaxing his guard it would only go up. 

He said nothing and tried to brace himself.

His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ground against one another as the guard reapplied burning fingers.

He’d had worse.

This was nothing.

And then the fire-wreathed hand moved away from his shoulder and flickered in the limited vision he had in his left eye, heat warming his face.

And Zuko _hated_ the jolt of fear that shot through him and he hated the gasping, “yes,” that was torn from his lips even though ultimately it would help him.

Or so he hoped.

“Yes, master,” Bujing prompted, lips pulled into a smirk.

Zuko’s stomach clenched.

The fingers came closer.

“Yes,” he repeated, pausing as though separating the words by more than a breath would help make him feel less sickened by them, “master.”

The flames disappeared and Bujing’s smile grew.

Zuko told himself this was part of the plan. 

His racing heart told him that wasn’t all it was. 

Zuko couldn’t help it though; any type of open flaming coming towards his face was cause for alarm. He’d gotten over the worst of it during combat situations because there he knew he could — and would — defend himself and he would never, ever, let anyone hurt him like that again.

But this wasn’t combat.

And Bujing could do whatever he wanted to him with no repercussion.

A second later there was a soft _click_ and the tension keeping Zuko’s arms captive behind him was released, although the metal cuffs remained fully about both of his wrists. He slowly brought them forward, resisting the urge to rub at them or roll his shoulders.

“This is where you express your gratitude for the kindness I have shown you,” Bujing said. “Otherwise…”

Zuko swallowed, the words tasting like bile. “Thank you, master.”

“Oh, Zuko,” Bujing shook his head. “That did not sound very grateful at all.”

Zuko’s knees buckled as _two_ burning hands landed on each of his biceps, searing lines into his flesh and only the grip keeping him somewhat on his feet.

He tasted blood as he bit through his tongue to hold in the scream and the sudden burst of hopelessness that this…

This wasn’t going to work.

Bujing was too quick to punish, too quick to inflict pain, and Zuko was _not_ a good actor and an even worse liar. He could not fool Bujing with deference, with obedience and hope the man would buy it.

He’d been played the fool (again) without even knowing it. 

But more than that…

He’d _failed._

Bujing would not let him escape, would never give him the chance. 

He…

He wasn’t going to be able to save Uncle.

He wasn’t even going to be able to save himself. 

And the only thing left, the thing Zuko had clung to as the world threw everything it could at him…

Was his pride.

And he would not lose it here.

“Try again,” Bujing ordered. 

Zuko looked up, meeting Bujing’s cruel gaze.

“No.” 

He should regret it.

He didn’t at all.

There was no point in continuing to play the part when the audience had already pulled back the curtain before the show had even begun.

“Ah,” Bujing’s lips curled, amusement dancing in his eyes, “there he is. The proud, arrogant, _foolish_ boy of before. You haven’t changed at all, have you, Zuko?”

He stepped forward, his hand coming once more to brush against Zuko’s scar and even though Zuko’s hands were now free and the game over Zuko knew trying to attack Bujing right now would be a very, very, _very_ bad idea. “You should know though, Zuko, that I absolutely _despise_ lying. I do not tolerate insubordination. And those that engage in either… they need punished.”

And that time Zuko could not swallow down the scream as Bujing’s own flame-wreathed hand pressed into his scar just beneath his eye and the world lit up in bright yellow and orange.

Screams echoed in his head — his own, the crowd — and flames danced and his flesh _burned_ and—

Zuko came back to Bujing’s study with a choking gasp, somehow sitting now on the ground and only upright due to the guard’s legs at his back and hands on his shoulders, tears blurring his vision and _pain pain pain_ pounding in his skull.

“Now let us try again,” Bujing said, looming over him. “Say ‘thank you, master.’”

No.

He would not.

He’d lost almost _everything._ His pride was the one thing he had left and no one, _no one,_ was going to take it from him.

Pain was fleeting.

His heart had already been broken and trampled.

He would not let anyone take this.

“Fuck you,” Zuko snarled, the curse word feeling both strange (and Uncle would be horrified) and yet absolutely fitting.

And then he screamed as the hands flush against his back danced with fire.

“I can do this all day, Zuko,” Bujing said over the sound of his screams. “And you are only going to hurt yourself more.”

Zuko didn’t care.

Nothing hurt more than the feeling of failure.

“Then again,” Bujing said. 

And again.

And again and again, the guard’s hands burning away Zuko’s shirt in its entirety as they landed on his back and arms, drifting around to the more sensitive flesh of his stomach, the sound of crackling fire and his screams and Bujing’s continued demands for him to express his gratitude and the world was speckled with bright flames and edged in darkness.

Zuko welcomed it; the only escape he could find here.

“You are stubborn, Zuko,” Bujing sounded, voice echoing, as the blackness began to take over, a pair of shoes blurring in front of Zuko’s eyes as they slowly closed. “And I will take such delight in breaking you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all those who left a comment last chapter, it really means a lot to me ♥ I'm committed to finishing posting this story on AO3, and knowing I have an audience really helps me to find the energy to post again. Please consider leaving a comment -- a small detail, a quote, even a simple thanks for posting -- and being an engaged reader. Thanks very much and look forward to hearing from you :)


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